running to cambodia - draft

the roosters begin to crow at five. light begins to creep through the gaps in the walls of my simple riverside hut. outside, in the cool morning breeze that blows gently off the mekong, the sky eases into a dark, steely grey. the buzz of cicadas slowly build into a loud chorus, then quit together in their mysterious orchestration.
Here in the south of the Laos Peoples Democratic Republic the Mekong river splits into dozens of fingers that cradle countless sandy islands. They are called "Si Phan Don," the four thousand islands. The former president of Laos, Khatamai Siphandon, was born here and took their name as his. On the island of Don Khon along the dirt road through the village (name!) the locals, subsistance fishers and farmers, are slowly emerging from under mosquito nets, on their porches, crossing the road to the river to bath in their sarongs. a fisherman heads out on the river.
i eat banana and drink a canned coffee on the road. i pass the Buddhist monks out collecting alms from the locals kneeling on the side of the road with their offerings of rice and vegetables and money. the monks' burnt sienna robes stand out against the tawny dirt road even at this hour, in this light. i breath deeply and relax my shoulders and try to feel the dirt beneath me, the cool air, and pay attention to the sounds and smells.
on the edge of the village, crossing under the abandoned bridge built by the french to transport their precious harvest of hardwood south to Vietnam, three dogs sleeping on the bridge wake, and shuffle down the far side to greet me, which they do by nibbling at my shorts, for some strange reason.
these dogs are my running partners. my morning group run. they are clearly high on the hierachy of wild dogs in the village, and across the island. as we shuffle past other dogs scurry. the villagers hiss at us, and shoo us along the road. we are a roaming gang. we pass the Buddhist temple and monastery and head out into the dry rice paddies.
it is hot in southern lao, maybe thirty and humid, and running at dawn is the only option. in the dry season it is dusty and the sun rises a beautiful orange red sphere from behind the dark silohettes of the coconut trees.
the dogs are reckless runners. they are impatient. their pace is inconsistent. they sprint after chickens and water buffalo. they stop to mark a banana tree, or a turmite mound. i am the glue that keeps the pack together and moving around the island, counter clockwise. i join the boys for a few sprints, but mostly keep the pace steady. we are a roaming gang, fearlessly claiming the whole island as our territory. at a small bamboo hut on the far side of the island, the dogs chase after a few chickens (they are all free range here) and i imagine myself trying to explain it to a poor farmer as i hand over a few dollars to pay for the birds that my running partners just ate.
we flush out some pheasant. we stir magpies and ghostly white egrets. one morning i spy two horn bills dropping from a branch above me and floating across a dry river bed. there are always the sounds of scurrying beasts in the dry leaves that cover the forest floor. mostly small birds and lizards. but there are snakes and very large spiders around, too. i keep a keen eye on the trail, for cold-blooded snakes like to warm themselves in the sun on the open trail in the morning.
i am running to cambodia. the southern tip of this island marks the border between laos and cambodia, and the islands in the river, and the bank on the far side, are another country.
between laos and cambodia, along this river border, the rare and endangered Irriwaddy dolphin can be seen breaking through the surface of the river, small black halfmoons breaking the pink sheen of the morning sun reflected on the river's surface.

flip flops

flip flops are the footwear of choice in southeast asia. bangkok might be the one exception to this, where sneakers and loafers and heels predominate. but everywhere else, rich or poor, foriegner or local, the flip flop rules.
there is something about the flip flop that i envy, that i aspire to. it oozes a casual, slow pace. they are clumsy of course, and you cannot walk fast or run. they flap against the soles of your feet and therefore they announce to the world the slow pace at which you are moving, a kind of psychological metronome. that is if you are not merely sliding your feet, shuffling across the floor. like a snare drum the wearer shuffles and flaps through their day, on and off their motorcycles, across the street, into the office. they are also continually slipped on and off, which means the wearer spends much of the time barefoot, walking across a cool tile floor, or a worn hardwood flight of stairs. they are also dirt cheap, and the owner, therefore, embodies a carelessness towards this very same essential characteristic, which of course makes it that much more atractive.
i have flat feet. and my ankles collapse inwards. so i can't wear flip flops for long. and i fear that if i walk for anything more than five or ten minutes i will get blisters. i belong to a lower class of traveller. i occasionally wear flip flops, often i wear my runners, as i am now, and sometimes i wear a heavier hiking shoe. the lowest class of man (it doesn't seem to be an issue with woman) is the one who wears the full ankle high hiking boot.
but i aspire to the flip flop. i am training, wearing them a little at a time. building callouses between my toes. i clumsily emphasize a shuffled gait whenever i can.
i'm okay with this. but i envy the natural grace of the flip flop man.

guest houses

a quick note on guest houses.
in our overwhelming and reckless enthusiasim for our elephant adventure, after hiring a boat, ben and cath and i decided we might try a homestay in pak lai. we knew the few guest houses would most likely be filled by the tens of thousands of lao arriving early for the festival. and we all liked the idea of a home stay. i had been considering the idea since i entered lao and thought this was a great time to partake. a french organisation involved in the festival set us up with a home. when we arrived in town we walked up the pier and down the main roan a hundred meters to the temporary tourist information desk. we were assigned a house, number 104, given a map, and pointed down the road. we walked down the road and a few nice houses with home stay signs pasted to their doors with other numbers. we walked for a while and then realised we had gone to far. we returned to one of the other home stays, a nice looking home on the banks of the river with a helpful and smiling family out front. they looked curiously at our map, and then recognizing something, gestured across the road.
it was a delapitated barn-like house. there was a small and exceptionally dirty crowd of lao out front. they were very poor. as we approached there were frowns and they avoided eye contact. we gingerly walked up a rickety flight of wooden stairs to a raised platform. a very old woman gestured inside and entered the dark house, that wasn't all that dark for all the holes in the walls and the roof. there was a person lying on the floor at the back of the room. i noticed right away that this man had a serious condition. his feet were swollen and pointed at a strange angle straight down. the skin was cracked. then i noticed a catheter bag next to him. we put down our bags, looked at each other nervously, and left. no one really addressed us in anyway. there were nervous giggles amongst the crowd, who i now recognised, were drunk too. (though to be fair it turned out that most of the town was drunk the whole festival. it was more of a drink festival with an elephant problem.) we immediately agreed to look for a guest house, but we were all scared that we would not find one. there was a hushed awkward tension. cath was already feeling a little rough from the night before. i was too, a little. the red wine, though fantastically alchoholic, was truly awful, and we were all a little hung over. the lao rice whiskey moonshine surely didn't help.
we passed the pier and saw a guesthouse on the bank of the river. we entered trepidatiously. a man walked up to meet us. we asked for rooms. he mumbled and asked how many, for how many nights. he said one moment. he returned and led us up a flight of concrete stairs, unlocked a door and waved us through.
the room was spaceous. there was a big bed and room for me on the floor. we had a balcony overlooking the river and the boats. it had an attached bathroom, which was not great, but not bad. we were ecstatic. we went back to the home stay, grabbed our bags, just smiled a lot and said thank you. they seemed to be expecting that we would leave. the old woman stopped us as we were leaving and pointed to a bag of food and water we had forgotten. we retrieved it and returned to our guesthouse.
five minutes later we sat on the deck of a bar, next door, watched the sun set, and toasted guest houses.
its difficult travelling in a poor country at moments like this. though its clearly much more difficult being poor in a country like this. there are days when you want to help. there are days when you do help. and there are days when you don't want any part of it, the dirt and disease and helplessness, and you are quite happy to have the money to pay for a room overlooking the river, for dinner in a restaurant, and for a ticket out of town the next day, all the while keeping your return airplane ticket home tucked away in your pack. in laos i have encountered a few abject, poor beggers on the streets, in vientiane. but mostly the urban poor that i have encountered are those living and sleeping in small street-side garages, that double as simple shops selling water and pop, or bananas and oranges, or something like that. and they are generally quite quick to smile with you or their friends. they are social and appear fairly happy. this is the spirit of the laos that so many speak of, and it is remarkable for its close relationship to the poverty of the nation. laos economy is booming, and most are surely doing better and better every year. there are wealthy middle class with with money to burn on fancy hair cuts and cloths in some of the small towns, here in paske, and even in pak lai. but you know that behind many of the closed shop fronts there are old and sick laos who cannot imagine the comfort that we know.
i always remember this when i am bartering over the price of a motorcycle ride, or a boat, or a pair of pants. i barter because it is part of their culture, it is a social function. i don't care about the money. i think of myself as a one man walking micro-develoment fund. i look for excuses to spend money in places i like, with people who smile, and some who don't. frankly, i don't know why i'm not mugged on every street corner. i'd be tempted to do so if some stupid white hairy guy who was unjustly loaded and rich came stumbling down my alley, and my kid was at home with diarhea, my wife was pregnant again, and i was selling baseball hats in the market for a dollar.

boy band

last night as i entered my room at my guesthouse i was assaulted by loud, disorted voices speaking lao. i thought the nieghbour might have been blaring their TV. i walked the halls attempting to find said nieghbour, but it became apparent that the sounds originated across a small field where i saw some lights and a crowd. i returned to my room, but it was unavoidably intrusive.
so, if you can't beat them...

a stage was set up just off a main road, a few tables and chairs, and two large stacks of speakers. the lao, for some curious reason, feel the need to crank the volume on all remotely public sources of audio. every music store or television or sound system i have ever encountered, in restaurants and on the streets, has been obnoxiously loud. this was no exception. it was some kind of lottery fundraiser, i think. a bit like lotto 649. a young well dressed lao couple were on stage. they drew some numbers and screamed them into their microphones. the speakers crackled. i walked around with a frown and a growing headache, but i figured it was better to confront the beast head-on than battle it from a distance back in my room. i walked around. walked past some drunks, past a small, charming, and ramshakle fairground, past some food stalls selling green gelatinous squares of bean paste, and then returned to the main stage, where nobody seemed to mind the auditory assault.
and then the two said thank you, "kawp jai," and something including the number five, "haa," and then left the stage. the lights went out. tension filled the air. the crowd gathered closer to the stage. a few young girls screamed. then i saw the silhouettes of a few bodies on stage. and then, simultaneously the lights on stage came back on, a smoke machine bellowed a small cloud, and the beat of pop music came pumping out the speaker stands. a five member boy band began a choreographed dance number. they wore fancy and elaborately coiffed hair styles, and layers of black and white urban street clothes. they also sported head sets with small microphones, which they obseively fiddled with. they lip-synched through a half dozen songs and posed in grandly theatrical arrangements. they gestured out, over the heads of a hundred or so lao, and one confused but delighted westerner, to an imaginary stadium of screaming fans. it was a lao boy band, in all its mediocre glory. a smile erupted on my face. my disasterous night had been saved. i quickly grabbed my camera. i stayed through the whole set and then watched as the young lao crowded around the back for autographs.

gender outlaws

wat sok pa luang is a forest monastary on the edge of vientiane. our tuktuk driver turned down a shaded, tree lined dirt road, and then pulled over. he led us down a small path, through the trees, past some simple wood, bamboo and thatch buildings on stilts. there were some dogs running around. you could smell a wood fire. then we rounded one shack and came up at the rear of another, a large fire burned under a metal barrel with a pipe that enters the back of the building.
this is a fairly rudimentary lao style spa. the lao appreciate a good steam. and you can usually get a massage at these places. here, in a small open forest, with monks walking past in their burnt siena robes, dogs roaming and fighting, on a raised hardwood floor, under a wooden cieling, without walls, you could watch the sky turn pink, drinking tea, waiting for your massage.
at which point noi, the loud and curvacious woman who appeared to be running the joint, would chat you up. as i emerged from the steam room, soaked, wet sheet around my waist, she asked ben and i where we were from. as ben said that he was from the uk she asked why we were travelling together. i looked over at ben, similarly wet and glistenning and responded that he was irrisistably handsome. she seemed concerned and pointed out that he had come with a girlfirend. we responded that she was, in fact, his wife. her concern grew. she said it would be bad for me to interere in their marriage. i laughed. i added that i had been lonely and needed some company. she asked if i wanted a boy friend or a friend boy. i thought about the question and decided it was best not to answer. i said i thought she was putting me in an uncomfortable position. she then asked if i wanted a girlfriend. i thought i better avoid this one too. but then i thought i better turn the tables on this woman before things got even worse and i asked her when she got off work. she laughed and said she could be my friend girl but not my girlfriend because she liked ladies. she laughed mischieviously. i suggested that she was trouble. she looked at me and said when trouble gets together with trouble it breeds like a virus. it was surprisingly eloquent. i made a quick escape back into the steam room.
the steam room was maybe six feet square, with three benches. the wood was sweaty. it was dark and hot. i burned my foot on the steam coming in from a hole in the floor. a crowd of lao entered in behind me. there were maybe six of them. i was not entirely clear on anyone's gender. this was a co-ed sauna, rare in lao. they gathered around me and spoke in lao and laughed and joked. they sat very close, scrubing their sweated bodies. they were clearly talking about me for much of it. i heard the word for foriegner, farang, in most of the sentences, and there were many fleeting glances, and some not so fleeting. lots of hands and elbows and knees seemed to be brushing me. some of the voices were deep, some high, and some in between.
when it got too hot i left the sauna. as this group emerged minutes later noi began speaking rapidly and joking and laughing with them. it was clear she was trying to set everyone up. she herself tried to pick up one woman, who was deaf. noi made a series of impromptu hand gestures suggesting that they lay together. the other woman (who was rather lovely) eased her head from side to side with an uncomfortable frown. noi attempted several times, with different gestures, and the woman's response was always the same. she then gestured that she preferred men, pointing in my direction. noi exploded in unrestrained laughter, telling everyone she like farang. she held her hand up to her nose and outlined a large one. farang means big nose. the def woman nodded. noi then moved on and tried to set up one of the ladyboys with a young skinny french man.
it was all an entirely unexpected, strange, sweaty, hyper-gendered encounter.
the mosquiotos arrived as the sun fell.
the dogs started fighting.
the monks chased them away.

moonlight

as the sun rose on the morning of the 17th i shuffled down to the pier to see if there was any action at the ticket office, which had appeared closed for three days. it was closed. i continued down to the pier and to the crowd gathering around a boat that i had spotted earlier from the balcony of our guest house. vientiane, i said, and pointed down river. the young man on the boat nodded. a french woman then turned to me and suggested that i hold seats first before the ticket office opens. she said it all with a convincing air of authority - but maybe it was just her accent. i scurried back up to gather ben and cath and we returned to the boat with our bags, saved some decent seats, then returned to the ticket office, which was miraculously open, with a lengthy queue. we bought tickets, and then some provisions: baquettes, cheese, marmalade, peanuts, oreos and water. i had time for quick double espresso from a stall run by an exceedly friendly and sweet indian woman we had come to know. we returned to the boat and relaxed, having achieved, with relative ease, our goal for the day, the fresh coffee a bonus.
an hour later the lao on the boat abruptly, and madly, began to slip out the small windows and doors to the boat moored next to us. ben said later they moved liked ferrets. it was a sincere compliment. we were apparently changing boats. there was a dangerous frantic rush. the foriegners were clumsily squeezing through the windows as the two boats moored next to each other moved apart and back together. i feared that a few bones might get snapped between boats, or worse, someone might fall between them. but with some help ben and i held the boats apart, got everyone on to the next boat, got our bags across, got seats, and then waited, calmly, absurdly, for another hour, before we eased away from the shore and into the muddy mekong river.
it was lovely to be back on the boat. it was quiet and relaxed. i watched the passing hills and bamboo forests and the white egrets flying along the red mud banks.
two hours later, as the suns rays began to heat the day, we pulled near a house boat, were an older woman and a young man, her grandson likely, paddled a low dugout canoe next to our boat and sold some oranges and water and coke. the young boy was moving quickly back and forth along the length of his boat, taking requests for items, delivering them, taking money and returning with change. he was remarkably efficient and light on his feet. and he was all ussiess. no smiles or frowns. it was a pleasent exchange and had the air of an old and peaceful way of life along the river.
the engine on our boat fired up and we began to pull away. the boy quickly finished his last order. he had a large wad of cash in his hands - perhaps a week's income. there was a basket full of money the old woman had collected, and the few remaining, unsold items in the canoe. the driver revved up the engine and turned hard into the current. the rear of the boat swung towards the small dugout canoe and hit it. it began to push the boat out as it swung, and drag it along the side. the woman and the boy, suddenly frantic, tried to push against the boat, but with no effect. as the smaller boat was pushed sideways and dragged forward it began it dip, taking on water. the woman began to scream. i began to yell stop, as did many lao. the boy abandoned ship, jumping out and away from the boat. the back of the dugout reared as the nose sucked under the larger boat. the old woman, sucked under too, grabbed on the the edge of our boat. the engine finally cut.
a few young lao at the rear of our boat jumped in to make sure the woman was alright, and help her swim to the shore. the boy was already half way there.
no one was hurt.
we floated down the river a few hundred feet. we watched as a small fishing boat arrived to collect the now empty basket, the paddles, and the upturned boat. some of the men on the boat jumped out and pulled a rope to the shore and tied us to a fallen tree. after a time, as the immediacy of this near tragic event began to fade, we all began to notice the sound, metal on metal, of impromptu repairs to the ship. the dugout boat had apparently been swept into the prop and snapped the drive shaft. later a young thai man confirmed this to me.
one of the lao men ran up the shore. an hour later he returned on a boat for a few minutes. then sped up river, and returned again in another hour. then they untied the boat, pushed us into the current, and the engine fired. we pulled away and it appeared that we were headed back upriver, to return to pak lai. there were some groans from the westerners on board. but then, with relief, we turned hard downriver when we hit the current, toward vientiane.
of course, this meant that we were more than two hours behind our already tight schedule. see, you're not really supposed to travel the river at night. none of the boats have lights. there are rocks. and the sand banks are always shifting.
at six the sun began to set. we passed a brush fire on the thai side of the river. then it was dark. and then, blessedly, the dark clouds over head spread to reveal a nearly full and bright moon. our driver navigated the rest of the now monochromatic river under moonlight. there were a few dangerous bits, with rocks and some mild rapids. but it was mostly open and seemingly expansive river. ben and cath were a little tense.
though not the smartest place to be, for sure, i accepted the gift of this beautiful moonlit cruise openly. i listened to some music. i sat on the window ledge of the boat. i soaked it all in. for me it was a very happy place.
then we nearly died in a crap tuktuk, made from half a motorcycle, as our aggravated driver raced through the streets of vientiane.

slow boat to pak lai

on the first morning in luang prabang i saw a small printout taped to the window of a travelling agency advertising a tour to the lao elephant festival in pak lai. i spoke to a young man inside. the "tour" was basically a drive there and back. he suggested i find my own way there.
the option to travel by road looked tedious and down right dangerous. everyone said the public bus would take at least two days. but one look at the map and i noticed that pak lai was right on the east bank of the mekong. so i walked down to the peir and spoke to a few boat drivers about hiring a boat. that night ben and i spoke bravely of buying a boat and floating all the way to saigon, but in the end we hired a boat and left the following morning with great expectations.

the weather was rather cool, and did not exactly fit with my idea of a tropical cruise. and our driver, who had been so friendly the day before when we checked out his boat, had become quite unfriendly. he steered the boat from the front, and all day long he would glance over his shoulder at us, or possibly his stern and pregnant wife, with a look of fear in his eyes, as if he expected to encounter some ongoing disaster behind him. i too began to peer towards the back of the boat as that same fear began to grip me.
as the sun dropped behind the low hills to the north east we rounded a five hundred foot limestone cliff and pulled into a small village on the opposite shore. the engine cut and we could hear the screech of some owl way up on the cliff, looking down on us.
our boat driver, who told us his name was mr. c., grapped me and led me up the hill into the village. we had to get dinner, he said. chicken. as we walked through the town the sun had completely surrender to the horizon, and we began to stumble around the dusty houses. we encountered a few fires in yards, and a few lao looked into the darkness at what must have seemed, even in the darkness, a little foriegn. a drunk accosted us.
then mr. c. pointed to a house and said, chicken. i could he the quiet throaty clucks of the chickens in the pen under the house. several locals gathered. as mr. c. and a few locals entered the pen through a door on the opposite side, a kid, just in front of me, reached in and grapped a chicken by its leg. there was a brief struggle. then mr.c. emerged with the beautiful bird in his arms. dinner, he said. i looked over at ben and cath. ben looked a little stunned, but poor cath was rather upset. they stayed behind as mr c and i took the bird back to the boat.
leter we had a spicey chicken soup, tom gai, some sticky rise, khao niaw, and a spice fish sauce for dipping called nam phi. we drank our red wine quickly. mr. c. brought out some lao moonshine made from rice. we got quite drunk eating our chicken on a boat floating in the mekong under the wall of limestone. we stumbled back up the hill into the town and slept on the floor of a wooden house.

Vientiane

i stumbled across a chinese run coffee shop on a quiet street in the early, cool morning in the old quarter of vientiane. in the northern tradition the thick, rich and sweet coffee is served with a glass of green tea. there was deep fried bread on a plate on the thick concrete table. the cieling was high. it felt like a cross between a french colonial building and a soviet, industrial garage - two spaces you see a lot here.
the coffee was wonderfully delicious.
having dropped off some laundry, i went for a little walk in search of a local newspaper (the government-run vientiane times) and found it at a store which sells prosciutto, jameson's irish whiskey and pasteries.
we spent the last three days in a dusty town searching out dusty packets of oreo's of dubious provinance. the whole town sold about a dozen products, i think. luckily baguettes, marmalade and happy cow cheese were among them.

ben and cath and i have this running toast going. at the end of a particularly challenging day we raise a glass of well-earned cold beerlao. the list last night, over an equally well-earned dinner of indian curries was as follows: to slow boats, elephants, red wine and chickens, guest houses and moonlight.

Laos joy

i'm in a bit of a pinch here so no time to craft much of a narrative.
know that i am ecstatic.
loving lao from the minute i crossed the border. and things just keep getting better and better.
the slow boat was lovely, and i was dreaming of hiring my own boat and floating the rest of the way. well, i managed to instill my dream in a lovely english couple, and we think we have hired a boat to take us three down river a couple days to an elephant festival in a small town, that seemingly few westerners visit. elephant races and processions abound, for three days! and then we heard about a homestay program there, and think we might have that worked out. and have found a store that can sell us a bottle of wine for the journey, some baquettes, some brie and even some chocholate cake! we started celebrating with afternoon tea, and then some beer, and then a fabulous dinner at a night market, spring rolls (with local watercress and mint), some pork rinds (with anise i think), and bbq chicken and a lovely fish (stuffed with lemongrass). all of it disgustingly affordable (except the afternoon tea, but hey).
i couldn't be happier with how the future is looking. really.
i'll try and get back to a computer tomorrow to confirm things. but i might again be out of touch, for longer this time, maybe a week.
know that i am in very happy place.
i wish you could join me.
there will be room on our boat.
might try a little fishing off the bow, catch us one of those three meter carp.
ben seems keen on trying a little waterskiing.
i'm up for it.
the boat driver says "it's your boat. you can stop where ever you like. you can go wherever you want. you can do it in one day, or you can take two days. you can do whatever you want."
pinch me.

strange waters.

i was recently convinced that my colon might explode. i was convinced by the profound discomfort i was experiencing at the time. i was sure that this flew in the face of all science, but stood strong, if a little bent over, in my personal conviction. and then, the following morning, like a heavyweight boxer emerging from sleep the night after a fight (i did spend all night under the hood of my sweatshirt, and didn't sleep, as boxers are said not too, either, all that adrenalin), i stumbled across a small pocket guide on travel and health. in the chapter on "traveller's diarrhea" i was a little upset to read that yes, the colon can explode.
but having apparently overcome the little bastards that invaded my guts, with a little help from the good people at Bayer, i truly feel that i have overcome. i am, perhaps, in a faint glow from my involuntary fast through most of last week. but things do seem a little clearer. i have a little pace, now. i am less reckless.
sadly less adventures among the street stalls for now, as well, which is very difficult for me. in fact, i cower as i walk the streets these days, fausty, stinky food at every turn. i also feel just a little more aware of what i care about. i spent much of the past few days, and one long night, eyes closed, in a dark room, trying to find my happy place. all of you visited me at one point and i thank you for that. i have begun to miss home, family and friends. a little sooner that i would have thought, but illness does this to you. this is a good things for me. i do not want to turn my back on my life back in canada. it is a great life. i know this. i knew this before i left too. i have felt especially appreciative this last year. but know i feel it in my gut, you might say.
i do feel as though i have become a little pensive. my travels had until recently been interesting, and fun, and rewarding, but in no way philisophical. the art of travel has begun for me. all i needed was a little suffering.
and so it is that i leave thailand and enter the Lao People's Democratic Republic. The "land of a million elephants," as it was once known, where 80 percent of the population are subsistence farmers. The communist government came to power after the Vietnamese and Americans brought instabilty, and lots and lots of bombs. I will first cross then make my way down the Mekong, flush with the melted snows of the tibetan plateau, home to the rare Irriwaddy dolphin, and the giant siamese carp.

balls of light are oft reported by the locals emerging from the river, considered to be fire from the Phaya Naga, the river dragons.
strange waters.

lincoln city

there is a scene in sam peckinpah's Pat Garret and Billy the Kid, where Billy mounts his horse, leaning back, casually, swaying in a manner that seems to take in all the vast landscape of the American south west, both literally and figuratively, with one turn.
billy has reluctantly decided to leave texas for mexico, to run from the law. it is an existential battle against his free riding ways. before he leaves he has a conversation with his new sidekick, alias (played famously and wonderfully by bob dylan). alias suggests a certain kind of man could be happy in mexico for a few months. later kid repeats the line to him. it is, therefore, a question of what kind of man kid is. on his way to mexico he encounters an old friend who, also on his way to mexico, has been unlawfully captured and tortured by men riding for Chisum, a powerful ranch owner in texas, and ultimately pat garret's employer. kid is deeply upset by this. he is, i think, willing to except law, order, fences, and a general civilization, if it leads to a decent life (for others, if not for him), but when he sees this corruption, sees the law for its corruption, he says to himself that he cannot leave. he knows he must return to fort sumner, to his posse, to the law, to garret and his gun. he knows his fate. he knows he is one of the last free men riding to his death. in one movement, one gesture, he grabs his horse's reigns, puts one foot in the stirrup, swings the other leg over the horse and turns it sharply around, from south, and mexico and a temporary reprieve, a slow death of half freedom, and faces north, texas, garret and the law.
in my mind i am still swaying. the hills, the mesquite bush in the distance like low clouds, the red earth, the unfathomably deep blue sky, turning in all its panovision glory. leaning back into the horse, leading its head around. its body follows with a small cloud of red dust caught in the low light, kicked up as the horse's legs scramble underneath it. my shoulders, leaning back, are the last to follow.
i watched this movie, for a hundred fifty baht at a local joint named pairadiso. it looks like a really small crappy video store, with a few rooms of to the side with some couches and tv's. seemed like a bit of a peep show, somehow. but i'm nursing a recurring gastrointestinal condition, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. throughout the movie the sounds of thailand's inexorable economic development creeped in, mostly through the sounds of motorcycles and cars blazing through the alley.
i been everywhere and there ain't no town as low down as Lincoln city.

Ciprofloxacin

Ciprofloxacin. Manufactured by Bayer. Sold under the names Cipro, Ciproxin and Ciprobay. Ciprofloxacin belongs to a group called fluoroquinolones. It is a bacteriocide. A broad-spectrum antibiotic, it is active against both Gram-positive and Gram-negative bacteria. It functions by inhibiting DNA gyrase, a type II topoisomerase, which is an enzyme necessary to separate replicated DNA, thereby inhibiting cell division. According to Wikipedia, "its mode of action depends upon blocking bacterial DNA replication by binding itself to an enzyme called DNA gyrase, thereby causing double-stranded breaks in the bacterial choromosome." In effect, the DNA can no longer uncoil, and can cannot, therefore, reproduce.
It was initially reserved as a final line of defense against resistant bacteria, but is increasingly a common prescription. It is now fed to livestock which in turn show increased weight gain, though it is not know why. It was once thought to be effective against chlamydia, though it has been shown recently to be ineffective in treating this disease.
Ciprofloxacin was stockpiled internationally during the anthrax scare in 2001 (though the Soviets have reported created a strain of anthrax that is resistant to cipro). Since this scare and subsequent stockpilling, cipro has been widely prescribed.
It was discovered in the 1960s as scientists at Bayer sought a cure for malaria. 19 years ago the drug was made available to the public in an oral form. According to www.cipro.com, it has been prescribed to over 340 million patients.
Ciprofloxacin can cause photosensitivity and can elevate plasma theophylline levels to toxic values. It can also cause constipation and sensitivity to caffeine, and general gastrointestinal irritation. It is also known to cause swelling of joints and cartilage, and cause tendon rupture and chronic pain. It should not be taken with antacids or dairy, and heavy exercise should be avoided.
Ciprofloxacin is my friend.

Muay Thai - a draft

Legend has it that at the time of the fall of Siam and the city of Ayyuthaya, in 1767, the Burmese army, under orders of King Mangra, captured a platoon of thai soldiers. They were brought back to the King in Rangoon. One among them, Nai Khanom Tom, quickly gained a reputation for resisting his captors. In 1774, seven years later, during a week long Buddhist celebration, the King suggested a fight, for entertainment, and Nai Khanom Tom was selected to battle a burmese fighter. Before the match began the Thai fighter performed the traditional Wai Kru, a ceremonial dance that pays respect to his elders. The match began immediately after and the Burmese fighter fell quickly. A referee argued that the Burmese fighter had been distracted by the dance and disqualified the knockdown. Nai Khanom Tom boasted that he could best ten Burmese. The king immediately brought in nine more Burmese fighters. Nai Khanom Tom fought them each, and one by one they fell at his feet.
King Mangra is claimed to have said that every part of the thai was blessed with venom.
For his successes in the ring Nai Khanom Tom was offered a choice between riches and two lovely wives. Riches, he said, were easy to come by.
He left with his two Burmese wives and crossed the border back into his homeland a hero.
On March 17th, the day of Nai Khanom Tom's fight in Burma, the Thai celebrate what is commonly referred to as "boxer's day."
Near the end of January, on a cool breezy night, a local muay thai club in Chiang Mai holds an exhibition match with several other clubs from the city. there are probably dozens of these exhibition matches being held across the country on the night. here there are eight fights. two fights match kids, maybe fourteen. three fights feature "lady boxers," young woman eighteen to twenty-five. two fights feature taught young men in their twenties. half way through the evening four fighters enter the ring, are blindfolded, and then fight for one three minute round, swinging wildly. Later they pass through the crowd, asking for donations for the club.
the audience is made of equal parts foreign tourists like myself, and Thai. it has the feel of local amateur sport. which it is, of course. but i am glad it is not merely a show for us foreigners. old men, and old women yell at the young fighters and cheer a particularly heavy blow in unison, as if counting and keeping score, and trying, no doubt, to encourage the judges to count the blows, as well. kids run around, looking up to the adults and the fighters in amazement. as the fighters pass through the crowd, on their way into the ring, and on their way out, there is a palpable tension in the crowd. indeed, the whole event, with music and dance and lights is quite a spectacle.
Muay Thai, or Thai boxing, is the national sport of Thailand. It is called "the art of eight limbs." Fists, elbows, knees and shins. The head was once used (which would make nine, i guess), but no longer. The Thai army trains in a slightly modified form, called Lerdrit, which uses open hands and grappling, and is i presume mercilessly effective.
In ancient times it was known as Muay Boran. The tradition was practiced, taught, and handed down through generations by Buddhist monks.
Sometime between the 14th and 18th centuries, in the ancient city of Ayutthaya, the king is said to have trained and kept a royal regiment of muay thai fighters, known as Grom Nak Muay.
In 1868 King Rama V ushered in what is known as the golden age of Muay Thai. His successor Rama VII created the sport of Muay Thai, introducing rules and structure to the fights. Gloves became mandatory.
There are said to be four styles of Muay Thai today.
Every match begins with Wai Kru, the same ceremonial dance that Nai Khanom Tom performed. It is an adaptation of a traditional sabre dance known as Krabi Krabong. Fighters each perform a series of bows and moves in each of the four directions of the ring. The fighters always seems to begin at slightly different times, and perform the dance in slightly different sequences. They move around the ring, threatening to meet, their glistening bodies twitching with anticipation and adrenaline and aggression, momentarily calmed and focused on these graceful and peaceful movements.
To the side of the ring, behind the raucous crowd of Thai who all stand during the matches, is a corner where two black and red heavy bags hang and sway with the occasional blow, as they have swayed on countless nights. A mirror hangs from the wall next to them. The two walls forming the corner are painted an intense azure blue. against the far wall the clubs insignia depicts to fighters clashing.
in the azure corner a young boxer is vigorously rubbed down with Vaseline. the vaseline will help deflect any attacks that make it through his vigilant defense, but the vigorous rub also gets the blood flowing to his limbs. he shakes out his limbs and begins to move through a few jabs. a lightning quick right, a powerful left. his knees lift and rise to the imagined opponents ribs with crushing force. he is wide eyed. aware. not scared, but not mean. his opponent has better reach and looks to throw a little more weight. but the opponent is less disciplined, and he will loose the fight by decision.

the ottawa sun is reporting that yesterday 23 year old Christopher Beatty, son of conservative minister Perrin Beatty, was killed in a motorcycle accident in chiang mai.
i have seen two accidents already here. both times the driver of a motorcycle (they are mostly smaller 100 and 125 cc scooters here) got up and walked away with little injury. two days ago i saw a large truck pass a woman on a scooter stopped on the lefthand side of the road at an intersection. he passed her on his left, then turned sharply left and the back of his truck squeezed her off the road, pushing her bike off the road and momentarily pinning the woman between the moving truck on her right and a sign post on her left. she managed to extricate herself from the bike, dropping it to the ground. the driver stopped up ahead as i had yelled at him as he passed. he approached the woman and seemed to blame her. i have no idea what he was saying, but he was immediately yelling and waving his hands.
it is easy to revel in the madness of the traffic here. to celebrate the fluidity and lawlessness of it all. so many tourists rent scooters, larger bikes and off-road bikes. they often ride with no helmut, like many of the thai. but it seems that this is niave and foolish. traffic fatalities in thailand, and all of southeast asia, are extremely high. with just 16 percent of the world motor vehicles, asia accounts for half of the worlds traffic fatalities (according to the WHO). more than 600,000 asians are killed, and another 9.4 million are injured every year. in thailand road accidents are the third leading cause of death. there is an effort underway by the governement to curb these accidents, but it has been largely unproductive.

it is beautiful to see the calm expressions on the faces of drivers and passengers squeezed onto these bikes. they are seductive.
i have a quote in my notebook from a zen lecture. the simple phrase reads: my body is empty. i think of it often here.
in sukothai there are many motorcycle carts. the back is the back half of a motorcycle, while the front, with two wheels, is either a cart for cargo, or a covered platform for carrying passengers. i saw a thai woman travelling in one the first day i arrived, travvelling into town from the bus station. she sat casually on the floor of the cart, at the leading edge, bouncing comfortably with the bumps in the road, nothing between her and the traffic but the blowing wind and her relentless smile. her body, as i saw it then, was empty. and the next day as i rode a similar tuktuk, i too sat at the front, and felt the same thing i had seen in her smile. it was lovely and light.

fight night in chiang mai

a storm is definitely brewing in chiang mai province. the winds are blowing, and the storm shutters bang open and shut, punctuating the shuffle of palm and banana and bougainvillia that surround me.
a truck creeps down the alley toward this cafe weaving past laundry and motorbikes and dogs. loud speakers mounted on the roof advertise a thai boxing match. the thai slips into a few words of english and back into thai, and through the distortion i only recognize the linguistic shift long after it happens. with nine matches tonight, two regional championships will be decided. the locals will be out in force to support their fighters, no doubt. the fights start at nine.
i bought my ticket this morning, and got a primer on muay thai form, and its street-side variants. the secret, my friend Audee claims, is to fake a punch and step in with the elbow. the other technique is to throw a volley of punches to the face, and then sneek a fist into the groin - the "secret" to all street fighting. i nod pensively, with due respect for the life an death subject matter, when he demonstrates, and speak with the thin veneer of wisdom of my many years street experience, suggesting a few of my own favorite moves.

filled with a new found gastronomic confidence i have bought a ticket to a small town in the northwest of thailand. it has a reputation of being touristy and over-run with foreigners, but of being pleasant, even bucolic as well. we'll see. it also has the rather dubious reputation of a particularly unreliable police force. in early january two canadians were shot in a bar fight by a plain clothes policeman. the man died and the woman remains in hospital, but is recovering. the facts around the shooting remain unclear and the incident is being investigated. i plan to poke around a little myself, see if i can't get to bottom of this.

i'm looking forward to being on the move again. the comforts of chiang mai do not inspire me, as my first week of travel did. i seek some obstacles in my path. a fight to win. for now, at least, i seek a sense of overcoming more than success or comfort.

fight night in chiang mai.
lets get ready to rumble.

soi dogs

soi dogs,
originally uploaded by David Capell.

"soi" is thai for "alley." these mangey guys are pretty common. the thai government "culled" them a few years back to curb the problem and they say it is better now - i think it is too, from what i remember. of the soi dogs there is a higher class of sky dogs, dogs which have taken to inhabiting the raised walkways over roads, thus avoiding their one true nemisis, the cars. chiang mai seems to have spawned its own class of cat-like wall dogs which perch on the walls that line the alleyways in the old city.
in the evenings they gather in packs and begin to wander. you see the old mangey ones cower and hide behind cars as a pack rounds the corner up ahead. its always lead by an enforcer. at night you hear curdling screems of dogs attacked by the packs. they are brutal and efficient.
their's is another world, and so they are like ghosts or spirits of the alleys and roads of southeast asia.

mikes

i have sinned. i have committed adultery.
i have lain in the corrupt bed of american fastfood. that morally bankrupt gastronomic vaccum.
i have been unfaithful to one of the oldest and bravest and most beautiful cuisines that i have ever loved. and i do love her so.
but that lovely cuisine is a firery bitch sometimes, and she pushes me away. i cannot handle her. she is too much for me.
and so i tell myself that i was driven. i blame her. i seek excuse.
cheeseburger, onions and mayonaise, a fluffy sweet bun freckled with sesame, crisp and hot fries, coke in a pastic cup, my tongue cradling the straw, a single crisp curl of onion, battered and deep fried. the details keep circling in my mind. ketchup everywhere, on my face... my lap... my god, and the beyonce... and i shoke it shoke it like a polariod picture.
the shame. the filth.
out out damn grease. i cannot wash it from my hands.
i wanted to absolve myself. find some form of confession. but i wanted to smoke, too, dammit. to pull hard, draw the smoke deep into my lungs, feel the cool rush of nicotine once again. it is true. i must come clean with it all, right hear.
i am sorry spicy mango salad with your crispy dried shrimp. i am sorry oleang, you are rich and smooth and i love you so. i am sorry my passionate green curry. forgive me this one indiscretion (oh, and there were those chocolate chocolate-chip cookies this afternoon, and there is this italian place around the corner...)

News and Fortune

The Bangkok Post, from January 26th, and this weeks Chaing Mai Mail reported the following stories.

The Thai economy is expected to grow by 4.5 percent in 2008, continuing the rate of growth seen in 2007.
The world price of gold reached a record high, at 880 USD per ounce.
Two Thai men were arrested in the south, driving a modified cargo truck containing stolen motorcycles in hidden bays. Part of a suspected motorcycle theft ring, the two men claimed they were innocent, and that Kamelporn Suriyakod is responsible. The police are currently looking for this woman.
Si Ngoenngan, a suspect in a major investigation into narcotics in the region, escaped from jail in the city of Nan, in the north east. The police who were on duty are being investigated, though they claim the jail is in disrepair. The authorites in Lao have been alerted.
The Thai army destroyed another opium crop on Lishu hill tribe land as part of their annual crackdown timed with the winter opium harvest.
Food prices in China soared in Novemeber 18 percent, driven by the price of pork and noodles, despite the government fixing the price on cooking oil.
Thai politicians have been filling flights between Bangkok and Thailand, as they rush to meet deposed, former prime minister Thaksin Shinawata, who is widely believed to be behind the new coalition governement.
Nakhon Sawan is responding to the recent outbreak of avian flu discovered late last week.
The post did a profile on drug abuse by disaffected youth in the south of thailand, where political unrest in the largely muslim population persists. the new drug of choice is Kartom, a mix of coca-cola, cough syrup, mosquito repellent and Kartom leaves. The drug is not officially banded under Islamic law, unlike alcohol. Kartom, technically illegal in thailand, is commonly found growing in the south and is available in the markets of Bangkok and elsewhere. Chewing the leaves has a mildly narcotic effect.

At the night market last night i slipped a coin into a wheel of fortune which stopped on the number 26. "the 26th number tells you that you are going to be lucky. everything will be getting better and better."
This mornng i found a fortune at the table as i sat for a coffee. It reads, "following inner prompting brings quiet accomplishment."

My stomach is not happy today. perhaps it was the whiskey and the spicey, fishy, green mango salad at the night market.

think i'll spend the afternoon laying low and reading.

paper SUV

paper SUV,
originally uploaded by David Capell.

here are the lovely funerary paper SUV's. the rest are on flickr.

Teep

Teep,
originally uploaded by David Capell.

Teep taught me to count to four.
neeng, sawng, saam, sii.

I love to ride my crocodile

davidtemp 006,
originally uploaded by David Capell.

the bike i rode through sukothai.

yii sip sawng: the price of beerchang in sukathai

i can count from one to five, from ten to fifteen, from twenty to twenty five, from thirty to thirty five, fourty to fourty five, and from fifty to fifty five. and i think i know the word for "hundred" which would get me to five hundred.
things are looking up.
there are smiles all around when i bust it out.
except for the stern and focus-of-steel woman who just made me dinner at the night market. (and i'm pretty excited at the prospect of every town having a night market). she was young, in her late 30s, her husband assisting from a distance, and her son, sporting a radiohead shirt no less, serving. she never looked up. she was busy with orders (which suggests that the whole town knows she is the best).
she cracked a half dozen eggs, single-handed, over the handle of her spatula and into the wok in a few seconds. she added some dark tamarind paste (tablespoon), some peanut oil (two tablespoons), some water (one tablespoon) and sugar (tablespoon). added some chicken and scrambled it all in a wok over a propane burner, spinning the wok around with one hand. the wok never stopped moving, i noticed. she always had it tipping and turning. she guickly boiled some noodles and some cabbage and thin sliced green beans. mixed it together. the orders to-go were folded in a banana leaf, like a twisting pyramid, and pinned with toothpics. my order was lovingly layed on a clean white plate and served with some fresh bean sprouts, a mild green onion top, and some other leek-like vegetable. with a slice of lemon, too.
i thought about that job at the bangkok post all through my wonderful plate of steaming padthai.

sukothai

the official history of sukothai, ancient 13th C city state and former capital of Thailand.

Sukothai was founded in the middle of the 13th century. according to the stone inscription found at wat (temple) Si Chum. a Khmer warrior named Sabat Khlon Lamphong besieged the city after the death of Pho Khun Si Nao Nam Thom, the city's first ruler. The son of the latter (lets avoid these long names whenever possible) joined forces with Pho Khun Bang Klang Hao, his comrade (mercenary), and drove the enemy away. The son gave the mercenary the title of Si Inthrabodinthrathit, and the "Sword of Victory" (some tricky handshake) and (payback) consecrated him ruler of the city (suspiscous that the son of the ruler, and hier to the throne would just hand over his authority, no? there's something rotten in sukothai). Sukothai grew prosperously and stretched far and wide (occupier/colonialist) under the son of the mercenary (a good fighter too, i suspect). he introduced buddhism (to quiet the masses) and "supported the arts" (commissioned the peasents to make him stuff). "he gathered different principalites under his control" (more fighting) and was a powerful king. "the security and stability of sukothai was built undeniably through the charisma of the king" (despot). without him the kingdom grew weaker and fragmented. (a time of peace, perhaps).
according to the stone inscription (how big is this stone?) in 1347, sukothai was reunited (conquered mercilously) by Phra Maha Thammaracha Li Thai (a southerner). during his riegn the king expanded his territory in all directions. in later life he became an ordained buddhist monk (to escape prosecution, or just hide out, looking the same as all the other bald guys in saffron robes). he famously commissioned a large golden statue of the buddha which now resides in the current kings chapel in bangkok (the ruthless collection of taxes might have played some part in it, who knows). more southerners appeared. there was intermarriage.

that's the end of the story.
no doubt the civilization became corrupted, or over farmed, or used lead pipes, and met some demise.

(i wonder what the state of thailand's freedom of speech laws are?)

it was a lovely bicycle ride through the ruins and the country outside the walled city. a school girl taught me to count to four (it was all i could remember), and i met a lovely australian woman, and had a very pleasent talk, riding through the country side.

mp3 love

arrived into sukothai a few hours ago. seems like a nice sleepy town, from what i can tell. enjoyed the buss ride here. it was very posh. even had a stewardess serving drinks and snacks. that's right. i was reading the bangkok post, sipping a cold drink, reclined in a comfy seat, a/c pumpin.
but i really fell in love with my mp3 player. and i was thinking, i wonder if i could get to africa, overland from here?

having trouble uploading images into my blog, so i'm trying flickr right now. we'll see if it works better. my profile/account appears to be my name. look for them, and let me know if this works.

i tried something called "naa pong." thai rice whiskey infused with herbs. red like cough syrup. pretty nasty stuff. wouldn't recommend it. doesn't go down well with a spice green curry, that's for sure. but hey, things are looking up. the price of beerchang droped a few baht outside bangkok.

i spent yesterday lost in the market alleys of the indian neighbourhood of phahurat, and then into the chinatown markets, nursing a beaten and bruised body. that morning i took the riverboat express up city to the famous wat pho temple and cut through the gawking tourists, straight to the famed, traditional thai massage school. it can be hard to find a legit massage here. most come with "happy endings." but here it's all good. it is a seriously rough massage, though. the theory of thai massage is that you stretch the muscle, while pushing into it at the same time. it becomes a bit of a wrestling match. and it hurts. my masseuse asked my every few minutes if i was okay. guess i was wincing and moaning too much.
anyway, the markets were really crazy. narrow alleys, with stores flooding out, leaving a gap of maybe two or three feet, for a few kilometers. you could not see the sky through the overlapping awnings. could never move faster than a slow shuffle. i really have never seen so much conspicuous consumption. total junk. stores full of knock off hello kitty purses. plastic jewelry. stickers. every once in a while an old vespa would squeeze through somehow and you would be breathing in his smoky exhaust for the next five minutes.
i suffered through all this in the search for Chinese funerary paper. on the seventh day after a wealthy Chinese person has died the grieving relatives will burn paper versions of worldly goods. paper shirts. paper suits. paper cars. paper high heel shoes. paper stereo. paper jewelry. paper SUV's. paper cellphones. paper tooth paste. paper dentures. it was all life size (except the SUV's, unfortunately) and colourful. it was worth the endless toil in the end. they were beautiful sculptures. maybe one day someone will burn them for my after i pass from this strange world. the custom is dying out. i went by the local temple tonight looking to watch the burning ceremony, but it was deserted.

turned to sleeping pills. alprazolam. lets hope i can get my internal clocks going without a new addiction. i seem to be drinking a lot of beer, too. soon i'll fit right in.

more good street eats in the last few days. most exciting for me is that traditional thai coffee can still be found. i remember it from my first visit here fifteen years ago, but it was hard to find ten years ago on my second visit. at any restaurant or guesthouse now a coffee is made from nescafe instant powder. which, though it ain't coffee, is not all bad. it is very bitter and dry.
but last night, lost on my way home, i noticed a woman selling "oleang" just around the corner. so this morning i sat at her plastic stool, in the alleyway, at the edge of her living room, with her two soi dog puppys playing behind me, and sipped a thick, rich, dark chocolate coffee. the thai coffee beans are ground and mixed with chicory, and other spices, and placed inside a large cheese-cloth sock and left to steep, or stew, in a tin pot of boiling water. the coffee is then poured through the sock over a cup with a little canned milk (common here) and also sweet and condensed milk. the end result looks, smells, and even tastes like a luscious, liquid form of dark chocolate. it has a salty, buttery after taste at the back of your tongue. its got some serious kick, too. standing in the alley later i wrote in my note book: "are you fucking kiddin' me! this is so good! and for 10 bhat! that nescafe crap i've been drinking at the guest house is 40 baht!" so many exclamation marks. i was a little excited.

i rode the metro across town, met a sweet thai girl who gave me her number (i didn't call), bought a stunningly beautiful mini pannetone (and i thought i had to go to italy for that), sat in a park with the morning paper, considered a job in bangkok (seriously, the bangkok post needs an editor for its art section, hmmm...), swung by an artist-run centre (sadly closed), had a beer and a nap. had grilled prawns (not great) and a yummy sticky bun filled with butter and sugar. bought some roasted chestnuts and headed back to the guest house.

think i will travel north tomorrow to sukathai for a bicycle ride through the ruined khmer city.

so my day really started with a street-side cappachino - though next time i will follow the thai's and take it iced. after a quick run through a curious mall (i needed a few things) i stopped on my way back to the guest house for lunch along one of the alleys, or soi, that i have to navigate through. not really sure how i find my way in and out of this place. chinatown is a warren. just when i'm convinced that i am lost i find myself around the corner from this guest house. anyway, i ate at a stall that served a lovely roast duck on a bed of rice with sweet soy sauce, fresh cucumber and thin slices of ginger (probably galangal). with a little fish sauce and chili, it was delicious. it was a cart, with a few ducks and some pork hanging in a glass case, a half dozen steel tables surrounded by some brightly coloured kiddy stools.
across the street, and everywhere in the neighbourhood, were old wooden two story shops. they suggested a more glorious past, but now served largely as a kind of way station or purgatory for the industrial age. one shop was piled high, all the way to the ceiling, with various sizes of transmission clogs. there was a narrow path through the dark piles to a glowing shrine in the back. next door a stack of transmissions lay like bones.
i tired to sleep through the afternoon, with little luck. (its been two days now without sleep.) i ventured out to the local night markets. as the motorbike traffic slows down the alleys become patios and dining halls. i had a a really spectacular dinner of barbecued satay chicken with a spicy peanut sauce (more spicy and sour than i ever make it). brilliantly it was served to me with a side of cucumber, thin sliced and raw shallot, with large pieces of red chili in a sweet vinegar. the combinations were so good i found myself smiling more and more towards the end of the meal. all this in the midst of a street that reminded me of bladerunner.
somehow i found my way back to the guest house just when i was completely lost, grabbed a beer on the rooftop and watched the carnival of lighted riverboat cruises pass by. and now i will go and pretend to be sleeping for a few hours while my internal clock adjusts.
bangkok is more seductive than i remembered. its also more of a shithole. it reminds me of those "vanitas" paintings of decedent still lifes that are rotting, over-ripe fruit and rotten meat covered in flies next to gold clocks and skulls.